


DC Desperation

by holdinginpee



Category: DCU, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Consentacles, F/M, Gen, Omorashi, Other, Tentacle Sex, Wetting, ambiguous canon, mostly DCAU but don't be surprised if it doesn't quite add up, or rather a sort of mashup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdinginpee/pseuds/holdinginpee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of a superhero is a stressful one. Really, it's only a matter of time before one of them wets herself, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Supergirl

Supergirl hung still and silent in the sky high above Metropolis, scanning its streets for crime with her x-ray vision. It was boring, but that was really for the best; eventfulness would mean some crime or disaster required her intervention, and that could result in someone getting hurt. Therefore, rather oddly, it was in a superhero's best interest to render their life as boring as they could manage. It was kind of a strange job that way.

Of course, it did mean any competent superhero quickly learned to deal with boredom, lest they drive themself half-mad watching their territory. Supergirl had picked up a few tricks in that regard, though often it was enough simply to let herself be caught up, just a little, in the rush of details she saw from her position atop the world.

And then there was… the other thing. The pleasant, heavy sensation in her abdomen. That was good too.

She first learned that she enjoyed the feeling after she came to Earth and began acclimating to her new powers. There had been a few awkward moments when she had been careless in how much strength she brought to bear and accidentally broken a chair, and a window, and most of a house, in that order; thankfully nobody had been injured, but Clark had moved training her a few places up his list of priorities and taken her to the Arctic to practice.

He had explained that the Earth's sun charged some kind of internal battery in their kind, and that its energy suffused their every cell, granting them their formidable strength and invulnerability. When he first started coming into his power, he said, he too had broken things, though nothing too serious since it was a gradual process as he matured; eventually he had mastered consciously withdrawing the energy from muscle groups, reducing them to normal human strength. By that process, he told her, he could avoid shattering every window in the city when he sneezed; and it was that process she would have to master before she could safely interact with human society.

Well, to make a boring training montage short, she did master it, and was given an impromptu crash course in human society by Clark's friends and family over the next couple of days. And then a few weeks later, in conversation with a human who seemed to be rapidly becoming her friend, she had found herself squeezing her thighs tightly together to avoid having to leave to visit the bathroom, and then the thought struck her: could she weaken the muscles that were trying to force her bladder to empty without also weakening those that held it at bay?

She hesitated a few moments before trying it, considering the potential embarrassment if she messed up. Her curiosity overcame her caution, though, and with a mental tug she withdrew the strength from the muscles of her bladder - and actually gasped out loud at the relief she felt, prompting questions from the human that she deflected without actually answering.

Over her years on Earth she had come to enjoy the feeling of her bladder's fullness, and eventually settled on going to the bathroom generally only once per day. She would probably have to do so once she got off duty, actually, she considered; if she let herself get much more desperate she would start to be visibly distracted, and that wouldn't do. No, this interest was hers and hers alone.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when she saw something frankly ridiculous: in a dark alley deep within the city, a man was being held at knifepoint. Someone was being _mugged._ In _Metropolis_. Who _did_ that any more?

 _Time to show this idiot the error of his ways,_ thought Supergirl, and dropped from the sky like a stone. For a barest moment she fell faster than terminal velocity, then bled off enough of her momentum that she struck the ground behind the would-be mugger only hard enough to produce a deep _thump_ rather than creating a crater.

"Hey, moron," she said as the mugger began to turn towards her. "Did nobody ever fill you in on just why crime in a city routinely patrolled by _Superman_ is a bad idea?"

The man finished his about-face, and rather than displaying any of the fear that would be appropriate for someone in his position, he only smirked. "Actually," he said, "I was hoping it would be him. You're a pretty good consolation prize, though." He looked back at his unfortunate victim, who hadn't actually handed over any of her money yet. " _Run,_ " he growled, and she did, quickly rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.

"I'm… not even sure where to start with that," Supergirl replied, "but I think it's time to go to jail now. I don't suppose you want to come quietly?"

"No," replied the man, "I don't think I will." As he spoke, he reached into a pocket in his trench coat (the man was practically a walking cliché, it was almost _bizarre_ ) and pulled out a fist-sized ball of some white material, perhaps porcelain. As he pulled back to throw it Supergirl prepared to dodge back - it probably wouldn't hurt her, but discretion was the better part of valor - but the throw fell short anyway; the sphere landed on the ground, equidistant between them.

It shattered, and the alley was bathed in a red light for two long seconds.

And as the unnatural light faded, so did the warmth of the field that granted her powers. Gravity took hold of her more firmly than was familiar, the world seemed to shrink as her senses dimmed, the cold flooded her limbs -

And her bladder, formerly entirely under control, suddenly took on an incredible urgency. In that instant its contents pressed down on her urethra with astonishing force, and she tightened those muscles as hard as she could, shifting her posture to try and alleviate the urge; thankfully, she felt at least reasonably confident that her problem wasn't visible to the man whose threat estimate had just risen dramatically, the motion lost in her adjustment to gravity.

 _This is not good._ She tapped the communicator in her ear, trying to establish contact with the Watchtower to call in backup, but it seemed to be dead; presumably whatever the orb was, it had disabled her communicator as well as her powers. Still, that meant backup was on its way, as was standard if ever a Leaguer dropped out without explanation; all she had to do was hold out until said backup arrived, ideally keeping close to her last known position if she could.

Lowering her hand, she looked over at the man, who seemed to be making no move to attack. The longer she could keep it that way, the better. Seemingly prompted by her attention, he began to speak.

"Hah! Can't reach your backup? Yeah, I'll admit I was a little dubious when I was told I'd be going up against Superman, but then the guy said that thing would nix his super-strength, so after that it was all down to price. And it looks like he was right! You sure seem less comfortable than a minute ago. What's the matter, can't fight without your powers?"

 _Mercenary of some description, not the source of the orb, nor the one who came up with this plan,_ Supergirl noted. Any detail could be useful later; it paid to pay attention in this business, though as another wave of desperation hit her she was reminded that she was probably not at her best right now. "I'd prefer to resolve this without a fight at all," she said, in hopes of avoiding violence both for its own sake and for her bladder's. "You said someone paid you to do this? Who?"

"Nice try, kid, but a man who rolls on his employers is not a man who gets hired again. Don't think I don't know what you're doing. I promise you, you're not -" and at that point he burst into motion, startling her; it was rare for people to attack before they finished talking, and implied a measure of tactical thinking. She barely managed to leap back before his fist passed through the space she had occupied, and the sudden motion took concentration away from her bladder; for just a second her urine poured out of her before she managed to regain control, dampening the inside of her skintight shorts and trickling down her leg. The momentary relief only made her more desperate to let go of the rest, her control seeming like it would slip again any moment, and the feeling of wetness didn't help either. She barely even registered the rest of the man's sentence ("- getting away from here alive"), but couldn't fail to notice that he didn't stop moving at the end of his swing, continuing to charge at her.

 _There's no way to get out of this without a fight,_ Supergirl realized, and her urge seemed to redouble in protest of the idea of further movement. She ignored it, shifting into the closest approximation of a combat stance she could manage, and deflected the man's follow-up strike aside. Her control slipped again for a moment, another jet of pee soaking her shorts, and she ignored that too, going on the offensive.

It quickly became apparent that the man was _good_. For all that she had been trained in martial arts she never seemed to manage to land a decisive blow, almost all her attacks blocked or deflected, though she at least never took a serious hit in turn. Of course, she was operating at something of a disadvantage, since every sudden movement felt like being punched in the abdomen, and every time she moved another leak escaped her. Her shorts were soaked through, she could feel it dripping down her legs, but in the darkness of the alley it wasn't particularly visible. Somehow, though, all that leakage never seemed to lessen her need in the slightest, even when her attempt to hit him with a high kick led to two full seconds of unrestrained release before she could get it back under control.

And then disaster struck. Her foot landed on one of the many pieces of trash strewn about the alley, it slipped, and her balance was lost; she landed hard on her back, and when she propped herself up, groaning, she found herself on the bad side of a gun. Not a huge gun by any means, but with her powers gone it would kill her just as surely. With a rather undignified "eep", she tried backing away, but found herself sitting up against a wall in short order, the gun still trained on her. And to add insult to injury, she could barely hold back the contents of her bladder at all any more, momentary drops escaping before she regained a semblance of control for a scant few seconds, only to repeat the entire process again.

The man laughed, seemingly genuinely. "You're _good_ ," he said with a somewhat manic grin. "I thought with your powers gone you'd go down easy, but that was actually _fun!_ Guess I should be glad I _didn't_ end up fighting Superman, if Super _girl_ could give me that much trouble. Still, it looks like I've won, so I guess I'll finish this and be on my way. Don't worry, I'll make it quick; I might be mercenary but I'm not a _monster_."

There were no witty rejoinders to make, no last-minute tactics held in reserve. The world seemed to slow, yet all she could do was watch as he aimed deliberately at her forehead and tightened his finger on the trigger -

And the very air seemed to tear asunder, and suddenly Superman was interposed between them. He radiated an air of purest danger and his arm was raised, hand closed around a mangled wreck that had once been a gun and a human hand.

The shock of his sudden arrival was the last straw for Supergirl's bladder, and she began to wet herself in earnest. The relief was _heavenly_ , and so distracted was she that she barely heard Superman explaining to the once-gunman the sheer magnitude of the bad decisions he had made.

A minute after her bladder finally released the last of its contents, he turned to help her up. There were the predictable apologies for taking so long, and confirmation that she was okay, and other such things that typically followed a near-death experience; with a slight application of his heat vision she was rendered presentable, and as they headed for the nearest transporter to the Watchtower she knew already that she would, in future, be wetting herself again. Maybe in a more controlled environment, though.


	2. Wonder Woman

Parties were always intolerable.

She understood the necessity. People wanted to thank their heroes for their service, and more importantly wanted to pat themselves on the back for doing so and gawk at the heroes like animals in a zoo. And the League wanted people to think well of them, so they attended the functions and tolerated the gawking. As the Princess of Themyscira, she had attended many similar events in the past, so she was well-acquainted with the general strategy; be witty and personable, seem quietly superior without it being obvious that that was the intent, and generally show no weakness whatsoever. The rules didn't change much when you actually _were_ superhuman.

She hated every minute of it.

But though she was many things Wonder Woman was not someone who would allow her own distaste to get in the way of her duty, so here she was, at a party. Specifically, she was in the middle of a story, that of one of the many supervillain attacks she had stopped; the public always liked superhero stories. One of the interchangeable rich guests made an attempt at a joke, and she laughed politely, then took a sip of her drink before continuing. The drinks really were very good, possibly the only thing about the event that was so. She had already had three glasses, and was most of the way through her fourth. She probably ought to pace herself, she thought; there were still several hours left. On the other hand, it wasn't like she could get drunk.

She took another sip.

* * *

In hindsight, she _really_ should have paced herself.

She wasn't drunk, no, but that didn't mean the drinks had no effect on her at all. She had had so _many_ glasses full of sparkling alcohol - looking back on the night, she lost count somewhere around a dozen - and all that liquid had to go _somewhere_. From the feeling of it, it had all gone directly to her bladder; it was full and heavy in her abdomen, waves of need battering away at her resolve, and she thought that even a drop more and she might simply _burst_. Her thighs were pressed tightly together in an attempt to keep the drinks at bay, and soon even that wouldn't be enough.

And the man at the podium was _still talking_. The party had moved on to the speeches-and-acknowledgements part, and for the past half-hour she had been sat on an uncomfortable metal chair, listening to inane, self-aggrandizing speeches and longing for it to be over. The entire room, as well as a televised audience, could see her, even if they weren't watching her directly (and many were); she couldn't allow her desperation to become visible, not if she wanted to maintain that image of perfection that allowed the public to place their confidence in her and her team.

In a carefully, painfully casual motion, she crossed one leg over the other. The chair made a quiet complaining noise beneath her as she tensed unconsciously; the raised leg added a new pressure to her bladder, though the increased pressure on her urethra was enough that she felt she could still control it better now. Her arms twitched occasionally as she had to suppress the urge to grip herself with her hands; that would _certainly_ put paid to her dignity, making clear to all assembled that Wonder Woman of the Justice League was about to be lain low by a few glasses of drink.

"...And so let's all have a round of applause," said the speaker, and _finally_ , thought Wonder Woman, "for the reason we're all here: the Justice League, with us today in the form of Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman, might we be so fortunate as to hear a few words from you?"

Forcing a bright smile onto her face, she uncrossed her legs and stood, realizing as she did that she'd accidentally bent the seat of the chair into a shallow negative of her own shape. _Bill that to the League, I guess. Someone will probably sell it on the internet, too._ Walking to the podium was a challenge, since it meant moving her legs apart entirely, leaving only the muscles of her bladder to hold back the liquid she so longed to release. Somehow, she made it there still dry, immediately squeezing her thighs together with a force that would literally have bent steel.

"Thank you," she said and nodded to the speaker, "and thank all of you for coming today; it's a pleasure to be here." A lie, of course; she could think of few places she'd have liked to be less, and very, very many she would prefer, starting with a bathroom. She continued spouting bland, optimistic soundbites for a few minutes, quite sure she wouldn't remember what she had actually said afterwards, until her communicator chimed in her ear. So unexpected was it that she almost visibly startled, and a tiny drop escaped her iron control, moistening her uniform the smallest amount. Apologizing to the crowd she touched the communicator to receive the call, hoping beyond hope that it would get her away from here.

"Wonder Woman," came Batman's voice. "Make your excuses to the crowd and return to the Watchtower. Non-emergency, but don't hang around."

_Yeah, no danger of that._ "Understood," she said, and looked back at the crowd. "I'm sorry, everyone," she lied into the microphone, "duty calls. I wish I could stay and enjoy the atmosphere," another lie, "but crime is rarely so accommodating." General laughter sounded as she turned to the mayor, who had come up to the podium when it had become evident that she was leaving. She shook his hand, reassured him away from the microphone that there was no danger to the partygoers, and turned to leave for the nearest transporter, which was on the other side of the building.

After the communicator made her leak the first time more was virtually inevitable, especially when she had to walk. Every few steps another drop added to the dampness in her crotch, and she dearly hoped it wasn't visible. In an attempt to keep her mind off it she tapped her communicator again, putting her back in touch with Batman. "Anything I should know en route?"

"There's no actual problem," he replied, and her brain skipped a beat. He clarified, "I saw the broadcast of your speech, you looked like you needed an excuse to leave."

And _that_ wasn't mortifying in the least, no sir. "Was it that obvious?" She had thought she was keeping her composure well. If the world had seen her squirming like a schoolgirl on live TV she might well actually die.

"No, your control of your body language is excellent. I think it would only really be noticed by people who were actually looking for it. And me."

"Well, that's a relief." Another spurt escaped her. _Don't think about relief. Not yet._ There didn't really seem to be anything left to say, so she dropped the channel.

Finally she made it to the transporter, keying in her access code and standing in the room. There was the familiar feeling of falling through space and then she was in the Watchtower, landing with a jolt. Finally out of the public eye, her hands shot straight to her crotch, gripping as tightly as she could manage through the fabric of her uniform, which became slick when wet - a problem, since most of the inside of its groin was one big damp patch by now. She groaned. She was so close, _so close_ to relief, but she was even _closer_ to losing control. She wasn't sure she could move without wetting herself entirely, and there was no way she could manage the concentration required to fly, not like this.

Inspiration struck. She knew that divine gifts were not meant to be used frivolously, but in this situation… she felt confident she would be forgiven one time.

"Hera," she intoned, "give me strength," and she felt her Goddess' blessing flood her. It did indeed seem easier to hold back, and she cautiously took a step forward; but her bladder contracted again, as it had been most of the night, and her control was lost. Her long-held urine shot forth unhindered, pooling behind her costume's fabric and pouring down her legs, and in the bliss of finally, _finally_ no longer bending all her power to holding back the flood she seemed to forget to stand up, sliding slowly down to the ground, ending up kneeling in a puddle which was still growing, still pouring freely from her bladder. It seemed endless, she wasn't sure how she'd had room inside her for all this even as desperate as she had been, and it was _still going_. She could have stopped, by now, could have held back the rest to release in an actual toilet, but really, what would be the point? Instead she simply let it continue, until finally, after several long minutes, it started to weaken, soon dying down to a trickle and then a mere few drips.

She remained where she was for several long moments, trying to persuade uncooperative muscles into motion, and eventually managed to stand up. Looking down at the enormous puddle, she ignored an odd sensation of pride, instead calling to Batman. "Send cleanup to the transporter bay. I'm going to get changed."

There was a wry smile in his voice as he replied. "Acknowledged. I'd guess you're feeling rather more relaxed now that you're away from that party?"

She didn't dignify it with a response.


	3. ???

_A girl sat in her room, pleased with recent posts on the internet. She had long enjoyed seeing women desperate for the bathroom, and she and a like-minded community felt it quite fortunate to have two high-profile incidents in as many days. The first one, with Supergirl, had only been caught by a security camera, but it went far enough that she actually wet herself. The second had been professionally filmed and broadcast on TV, but unfortunately Wonder Woman had been called away before it had become undeniable that she was in trouble. Still, the girl and others were happy to assume, and in this case they did so correctly._

_The girl wasn't yet aware she had a power. Like many metahumans, her first manifestation had been an unconscious one, and unlike more flashy powers that set their user on fire or summoned otherworldly servants, this one had a more subtle, widespread effect. It had latched onto what the girl was thinking at the time, and started nudging dominoes into motion that would lead to that thought being fulfilled writ large. Thoughts seeded, obvious solutions glossed over, occasionally even minor alterations to the real world where nobody was looking; nothing that would ever be noticed, but in time the effects would add up._

_The power had no ability to distinguish between desires in fantasy and in reality. All it knew was that it had been invoked to create situations in which superheroines would have full bladders, and so it would be._


	4. Harley Quinn

"I'm _boooooooored,_ " complained Harley Quinn to the room at large.

The room declined to reply.

Harley found the room very rude and decided not to talk to it any more.

Normally when she was bored Harley would have gone outside and found something to entertain her, or hung around Red until she did something fun. But right now they were lying low in preparation of a Big Scheme, so she couldn't draw attention to them or this abandoned flat they were staying in, and Red was doing… something, Harley had never had the patience to keep track, but something which required the utmost of concentration.

She had even grown her plants over the door and lined the room she was in with soundproofing vines, too. It was like she didn't even _trust_ Harley to leave well enough alone. It was very frustrating and she would have stormed in to give Red a piece of her mind, except the door was blocked.

There was nothing good on TV and she had already broken the games console she stole the day before and she was _bored_.

Also, she realized, she'd drunk about a million cans of soda and if she didn't get up to pee soon she'd probably wet herself. Maybe she should do something about that.

Ten minutes later, after she'd sung all she could remember of a musical she'd enjoyed once, she remembered that she'd intended to go to the bathroom. Leaping up in one improbably fluid motion, she oriented herself against what she remembered of the layout of the flat, and frowned.

The only way to the bathroom was through the room Red was in. And she couldn't go in there, not even to just go through, because the door was blocked and Red wouldn't hear her if she shouted and she couldn't go out the window because then they might be discovered. Also because they were six floors up and she couldn't fly, she was pretty sure.

Could she? Had she ever really _tried_ to fly? She'd heard about all those superheroes who could fly and lift trucks and shoot lightning from their ears but when it hadn't _happened_ to her she'd just kind of assumed she couldn't. Maybe she really could, but she just hadn't figured out how?

She forgot about her bladder entirely as she spent several minutes assuming various ridiculous poses, until an urgent pang reminded her that the issue was rapidly coming to a head.

Okay. So she couldn't go outside and she couldn't go to the bathroom. Her options were limited to the room she was in, with a couch and a TV, or the bedroom, with a bed. She didn't want to ruin the furniture. What did that leave?

_Red's plants!_

Of course! Plants liked pee-chemicals, right? Harley was pretty sure that was right. If she wasn't, the plant might get sad for a while, but Red was a _genius_ and also _magic_ and could easily fix anything she did wrong. She'd probably sulk a bit, but she'd forgive Harley soon enough. Especially if Harley did the pout. Red could never resist the pout. And besides, that assumed she was wrong, which was ridiculous.

So, plant it was.

The next question was, which one? There were only a few plants in the rooms Harley could access. Most of them were tiny, single flowers and the like, and she didn't want to drown the poor things. Of those that remained, one was a cactus - _no thank you, not puttin' my lady-parts anywhere near that_ \- and then there was… _the one in the bedroom! Harley, you're a genius!_

Running into the bedroom and around the bed, she saw the squat form of her impromptu toilet where it was growing from the floor. Currently a thick, grayish-green ball about the size of her head, she knew it was asleep, sort of, since it had nothing to do. She reached down to stroke it, _eep_ ed when she squashed her bladder in the process, stood back up, and began pulling down her pants to go, when suddenly the plant woke up.

Unfurling into a group of vines ranging from as thin across as a pencil to as thick as her forearm, it waved about for a moment and then lashed out towards Harley, catching her too quickly for her to avoid it and wrapping around her, lifting her from the ground.

_Oh, right,_ she belatedly realized, _it was a playtime plant. Prob'ly shoulda figured this would happen._ Red had designed this plant, or rather one of its distant predecessors, quite some time ago, when Harley had wondered if she could use her powers for _fun_ ; by now she was practiced enough to make it out of normal plants easily, and it seemed it had assumed that taking her clothes off right next to it meant she wanted a ride.

Admittedly, Harley was very rarely opposed to going a round with one of these plants. But at the moment she was kind of distracted by how much she needed to pee, and if she went now she'd get it all over her pants, and she'd forgotten the word Red had reminded her of a million times that would make it go back to sleep and the only other way was for it to decide that she was done. _Heh. 'Done'._

There was no struggling her way out; the more she fought against the plant, the more securely it would hold her. By the time she remembered that it was already lashed around her limbs in three places each as tightly as it went, which was just tight enough that the sensation had an edge of bite to it. The feeling was starting to get her all wound up, heat pooling in her groin, but still her bladder was the higher priority.

The plant wasn't smart enough to understand speech, except for a select few words. Since she didn't remember any of them, that was no good. Some of Red's other babies understood you when you spoke to them but that didn't help her much, since Mr. Cactus was immobile and in the other room. She tried anyway, calling out to cactus and Red alike to no avail, and after a few moments the vines decided they didn't like her shouting and slipped a vine into her mouth, not so thick that it hurt her jaw but only just. At the same time thinner vines were exploring beneath her shirt, gently stroking her breasts, and feeling out the rest of her -

One of them passed over her abdomen with enough force to set her to squirming again, and as the vines adjusted their grip on her again they seemed to realize this was something new. Vines of varying thicknesses poked and prodded and rubbed at her bladder through her stomach, investigating and, she knew, learning just how she squirmed and tried to press her legs together. Red's plants were so smart, they'd figured out the mouth thing on their very first time, and she wondered just what they would do with this new information; as though in answer most of the vines withdrew from her bladder, except for a few that continued stroking it almost soothingly, and then one of the thickest vines pushed gently into her vagina, sliding smoothly in until it was as deep as it could comfortably go.

Oh, she _loved_ this, being tied up tight and having Red's vines fill her from both ends, but still her bladder distracted her, throbbing insistently whenever it seemed she might be ignoring it in favor of the wonderful, wonderful vines. They didn't seem to want to share her attention, the thick vine shifting inside her, and she realized she could feel it pressing against her bladder from _inside_ her, while outside the smaller ones continued rubbing it in soothing patterns. The line between pleasure and desperation was starting to blur, and at that point the vines made their move. Starting slowly, they thrusted in and out at both ends, quickly picking up speed until, soon, they were _ravaging_ her, having decided she needed it hard and fast today rather than slow and drawn-out. There were vines massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples, and more stroking quick, tight circles around her clit without quite touching it, and she was starting to lose track of the individual sensations in favor of one big building-up-to-orgasm feeling, and when the plant finally turned its attentions directly to her clit she felt something akin to an _explosion_ , in more senses than one.

They kept going, more slowly, as she came down from her first orgasm, and when she regained semi-coherent thought she realized she'd completely lost control of her bladder, all thoughts of her clothes forgotten. Still, that was about the most intense sex she'd had in possibly _years_ ; maybe something to experiment with later, she thought. The vines were still going, and shortly they brought her to a second, more sedate orgasm; seemingly deciding she was done for now, they went through a remarkably accurate simulation of coming inside her, ejaculating a sticky, sweet sap. They always did that; before they were first created there had been a few times when Red had made her come and she hadn't returned the favor, and whenever that had happened she felt kind of bad about it. She figured the vines had picked up on that somehow. Red was _really good_ at what she did.

The vines spread out into a comfortable mat, which suited Harley fine, all the excitement having left her somewhat worn out. As she curled up to drift off, hugging a thick vine that wrapped around her, she wondered if Red would feel like playing with them when she was finally done with her project.


	5. Mary Marvel

Mary Marvel flew in through her window, left open for just such entrances, and made a beeline straight for the kitchen. It had been a long day; she had patrol straight after her classes ended, and the universe had seen fit to throw her two muggings, a bank robbery, a car chase, and an honest-to-God cat up a tree. She needed something to eat, and something to drink, and to put her feet up and watch some mindless TV.

She made several sandwiches practically on autopilot and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, then floated over to the couch and lay down on it. Setting down her snacks, she pulled out the remote, then idly said "shazam" to return to her unpowered form. As the lightning struck her she realized her error.

Her Marvel form was, in many respects, an idealized human. Even without the magic that provided her powers, the form would have been stronger, faster, better coordinated, and so on, not to mention being generally larger than Mary herself. Among the many advantages she had in that form over her normal self was a significantly larger bladder - yet the contents were not altered when she swapped between them, meaning the same amount could make her need to go more or less depending on how she transformed. A few times before she had gone from having a noticeable but non-urgent fullness of her bladder to being on the edge of losing control when she changed back, and once she had even taken advantage of the reverse, switching to her powered form when she was sure nobody was around to give her more time to make it to a bathroom.

This time, though, she had gone the entire day without using the bathroom, much of that time being spent as Mary Marvel. Her bladder had been full enough that, frankly, even if she hadn't changed back she would have needed to use the bathroom soon, and when she had transformed back her bladder had become too small to be physically able to hold all of the accumulated urine.

The instant the transformation took hold, the excess urine was forced out of her bladder, soaking her panties, the back of her jeans, and the couch beneath her in one go. Her bladder itself remained full absolutely to capacity, and she instinctively curled up and stuck her hands into her pants, squeezing her crotch tightly.

She had to make it to the bathroom. She _had_ to. She would _not_ wet herself here on the couch, she told herself. Her bladder did not seem inclined to listen, leaks escaping despite her iron grip. _Fine,_ she amended, _I will not wet myself_ completely _here on the couch._

After a few seconds to gather her strength, she swung sideways, planting her feet firmly on the floor. Standing without using her hands, in her desperate state, was a challenge, but she managed with only minimal leakage. As she stood up she felt it begin to trickle down her legs, which didn't help at all to hold it; she spent a few moments bent into a strange half-crouch, unsure if she could move in either direction without losing control.

Once she felt she could manage, she took a single step forward, and that was it for her bladder. The floodgates opened, her muscles released despite her best efforts otherwise, and pee poured forth, soaking her hands, her trousers, her socks, and puddling on the floor.

She sighed, finally thinking to move her hands, and wiped them on what areas of her jeans remained dry. She nearly facepalmed when she realized the obvious solution that in her desperation she had missed, that of transforming back into her Marvel form when the problem became evident, and sighed. Well, cleaning up the mess would serve as a good lesson to keep thinking even in high-pressure situations.


	6. Miss Martian

M'gann looked over her supplies again, just to make sure she had enough, and nodded. She was quite excited to take part in what her knowledge of Earth assured her was a common ritual: the marathon viewing. She had a show that she was told came recommended, she had plenty of unhealthy food (most of it crispy), and she had soda in abundance; she was _prepared_. Admittedly, she had done something similar before coming to Earth so that she could convincingly pretend to be human, but this was the first time she would be doing it for its own sake and with the requisite snacks.

She laid down on the bed in her room and set the TV to play the first episode, popping open a can as the theme music began to play.

* * *

Several hours in, she was completely enthralled. As an alien who still wasn't sure how to fit in on Earth, she really identified with several of the main characters, and it seemed like the gag-per-episode format might be starting to introduce an overarching plot, too, with the revelation that there were others of their kind out there.

She ignored the twinges of her bladder as the soda she had drunk started to make itself felt, crossing her legs unconsciously. She wasn't leaving this marathon for anything short of a supervillain attack.

* * *

The credits rolled on the last currently-aired episode.

M'gann considered the marathon an unqualified success, even if she still wasn't sure how she hadn't seen the fusion thing coming. She had participated in Earth culture, learned a great deal about human society, and learned that her situation wasn't entirely inconceived-of among humans, which perhaps meant she could share a few personal stories with her friends and have them be understood. That would be fun; bonding over personal stories was a very human thing to do.

As she sat up, another human thing made itself known to her: her bladder was very, very full. It had been, she realized, for some time, since she'd been sat there and drinking soda for most of the day; without even realizing it she'd twisted her legs together and been holding herself for some time.

Were she more experienced with human forms, resolving the issue would have been simple; she could have simply shifted her bladder larger. Unfortunately, she had spent little time practicing the internals of humans, concentrating mostly on making the external appearance look exactly how she wanted once she had it mastered well enough that she would be able to pass a medical examination if it became necessary. If she tried to mess around with her organs, especially as distracted as it was rapidly becoming evident that she was, she might well end up wetting herself on the spot, or worse, causing internal damage - which she could fix, but fixing poorly-done shapeshifting generally left Martians feeling lousy the next few days.

No, she would have to make it to the bathroom. Which was almost exactly on the opposite side of the mountain from her room. Rats.

She took a few tentative steps before deciding that wouldn't work, instead lifting herself from the ground with a minor mental exertion. Truthfully, that was easier than walking even at the best of times, but she tried to walk whenever she remembered to.

The mountain was a maze at the best of times, and as distracted as she was she took several wrong turns and had to backtrack. Halfway there her tenuous control began to fail her and for a brief moment she lost it entirely, stopping in place and letting out an _eep_ while she tried to stop the flow and blushing heavily. When she was fairly sure she had stopped she began to move again, only to stop and utter a "hel _lo_ , Megan!" as a solution came to mind.

Concentrating carefully on her mental picture of her biology, she found the part of her crotch where her bladder let out - she was pretty sure she remembered the biology textbooks she had read calling it the urethra - and changed it slightly, closing off the opening and turning it into a dead end. Cautiously relaxing her muscles slightly, she found that her idea had worked; now she could make it to the bathroom without any risk of causing a mess. It felt odd, but that was only a small matter; being human-shaped often felt strange, and having a bladder this full was especially unfamiliar to her.

Thanks to her self-modification she made it to the bathroom without further incident, and retracted her clothing as she sat down on one of the toilets. With another mental twist she returned her biology to human-normal, and immediately began to feel relief as urine poured from her bladder.

As with any new experience in human form, she made sure to pay careful attention to the feeling, which was a very pleasant one; in fact, if she wasn't mistaken, it seemed to overlap fairly strongly with what a few secretive experiments had taught her human arousal felt like. Maybe that was something to look into… what was the custom for discussing - what was the phrase - "bedroom matters"?


	7. Black Canary

When she regained consciousness, the Black Canary's first thought was that this was possibly the third least comfortable she'd ever been upon waking.

She seemed to be suspended against a wall, arms spread out above her, though exactly what was holding her there was a mystery; there was no manacle or binding visible or to be felt on her wrists or ankles. Her jaw, too, was fixed in place by forces unknown, rendering her powered Cry useless if she wasn't willing to shatter most of her teeth and jawbone; that was an option that could wait for rather more dire straits. From the fullness of her bladder she had probably been here at least a few hours, which worried her; she wasn't sure how she had gone from running across the skyline to waking up restrained, but if she had been knocked out for that long she could have a concussion or worse. She would need to get that checked once she got out of here.

Not, admittedly, that getting out looked like it would happen soon unless something changed, since no matter how she struggled she couldn't get any leverage on her unknown restraints. Perhaps hearing her efforts, a new figure entered the room, wearing a costume Canary could only call _amateurish_. A hooded jacket and jeans, visibly new enough that they had probably been bought explicitly for the purpose, and a cheap plastic mask; the only thing that really made it obvious that this was someone of note was that the eyes of the mask were illuminated from behind by a deep violet light, which seemed to trail behind as the androgynous figure moved, though careful attention indicated that this impression wasn't actually borne out by reality.

The figure turned to Canary, staring at her for a long moment, and then spoke, another mental distortion serving to render the voice unidentifiable. "Hello, Black Canary. Are you comfortable?" As though in answer her bladder throbbed, and she shifted unconsciously; the figure's posture too changed a little at the same moment, and they chuckled. "Silly question; I know you are _not_. If you'd like a name to better refer to me I'd suggest Magi. I brought you here today to finally get my revenge. Any questions?"

Though she couldn't open her mouth she could still speak through gritted teeth, if a little awkwardly. "Revenge for what?" she asked, pressing her thighs together as another urge hit her.

Magi nodded, shifting again. They seemed like a restless sort, changing position slightly every few seconds. "Good question! So for this we need to go back a ways. Do you remember two years ago, there was a hostage crisis at a bank that you broke up after three hours?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded. "Think so. Were you one of the ones we arrested? A friend, out for revenge? Something along those lines?"

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say; Magi lunged forward, grabbing hold of the front of her coat. " _Do not compare me to them,_ " they hissed threateningly. Satisfied that their point was sufficiently made, they released her and pulled back. "No. I was one of the _hostages_. I was only in the bank to use their bathroom when the whole thing started, and then they told us to sit still and stay quiet. Several times I asked to be allowed to use the bathroom but every time they said no, I had to stay where I was, and all the while it just kept getting harder and harder to hold on. And then I couldn't hold it any more, and I wet myself, right there in the middle of the group. And what do you know, five minutes later you _finally_ waltz in and let us all go, _too late to do any good!_ " They were gesticulating wildly by the end, pacing around the entire time, and the last part came out nearly in a scream.

She waited a few moments to make sure nothing else was coming. "Wait, that's _it?_ " she asked, incredulously, still through her locked jaw. "The robbers didn't kill anyone, didn't even _hurt_ anyone, and your complaint is I wasn't fast enough, even though I dealt with it in less than ten minutes from when I got the call?"

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say. "It was _mortifying!_ " Magi screamed, visibly furious. "You should have been _faster!_ So I swore revenge, that I'd make you suffer the same way. And which one of us is free now, and which one is magically tied up against a wall? Yeah! Looks like I win, bitch! You're going to _stay there_ and hold it for as long as I feel like, and maybe then I'll let you humiliate yourself by pissing in your uniform, and then if I feel like it you'll do the whole thing _ag-_ "

The sentence was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass as a green-fletched arrow flew through one of the windows of the abandoned warehouse, aimed to embed itself in Magi's arm. The instant before it would have landed the figure dissolved into violet light which faded away, the arrow passing harmlessly through, and as they did the hold on Canary's limbs and jaw vanished; not anticipating the sudden release she collapsed to the ground, landing hard on her bladder, which did not at all help the urge.

She picked herself up slowly, painfully, her joints still aching from being held awkwardly for however long it had been, and found herself dancing unconsciously in an attempt to resist her desperation. When Oliver entered the building she was holding herself openly as she looked around the building in case there was anything of note, which there did not seem to be. By all appearances, Magi had simply chosen a random empty warehouse and kidnapped her to it. It would likely be trivial to identify them later, but any clue could be useful down the line, even if it wasn't obvious what for at the time.

"Hey there, Beecee," her boyfriend greeted her as he walked in, possibly her most hated nickname shy of "snookums", and she had promised to kill him if he ever spoke _that_ one again, even in jest. "You, uh, look like you've got something you need to do there, babe. What was the deal with the masked weirdo?"

"Hostage a couple years back, wet themself when they weren't allowed bathroom access, got mad at me for not being fast enough, decided to take revenge," she summarized. "Apparently they knew magic somehow? I think that was what was holding me, since I was suddenly dropped when your arrow popped them."

"Oh, man, I hate dealing with magic. It never does anything sensible."

"Strange. In that case I would have thought it would be right up your alley," she teased him.

"Oh, ha _ha_ ," he replied, entirely humorlessly. He paused for a moment, watching her search with one hand buried in her crotch and constantly dancing. "No, look, come on, the detective work can wait, you need to get to a bathroom. There's a public one just down the street."

"No, I'm fine," she protested, not entirely sure why she was doing it. "I can wait."

He didn't reply, simply placing one hand on her shoulder and guiding her gently, if firmly, towards the door. She put up only a token protest; she really did need to go quite urgently. Just before they left the building she stopped for a moment, gathering her resolve, then forced herself to stop dancing, straighten up, and take her hand out of her crotch, not wanting to be seen on the verge of wetting herself by any bystanders. Oliver alone was bad enough.

She looked over to him and nodded, noting as she did that he was breathing just a little more heavily than the situation warranted and had the same flushed, slightly dazed look he tended to get when he watched her go a round on the League's sparring mat or exercise room. (Personally, she favored watching him on the salmon ladder, but that was neither here nor there.)

The walk to the bathroom seemed to take hours, but eventually they made it, and she entered. Her uniform was clearly not designed with this situation in mind, with a leotard over tights meaning she would have to take off the entire lot to remove said tights; after a few moments of deliberation she decided she didn't have time for that, and so she would simply pull aside the crotch of the leotard and go through the tights. The dark, shiny fabric didn't show wetness, she knew, so as long as she didn't get any on her legs it wouldn't be visible; she had done a similar thing a few times in the past, when urges had arisen at inconvenient times, though she didn't think she'd ever been _this_ full.

Except this time, nothing came out.

She waited a minute, bearing down on her bladder as hard as she could, to make sure, but when not even a trickle came forth her situation became apparent. She sighed and pulled her leotard back into place, then left the bathroom, finding Oliver waiting nearby. He looked at her curiously, presumably seeing in her body language that she still badly needed to pee.

"Couldn't go," she explained before he could ask. "'Magi' said I would hold it, quote, 'as long as I feel like', I guess this is what they meant."

"So, just to clarify, they had _magic_ , and they used it… to stop you from going to the _bathroom?_ " Oliver sounded incredulous, and just a little intrigued. She would have to remember to ask him about that later, as well as his earlier reaction.

"That's about the sum of it. Supervillains, go figure. Come on, we need to get to the Watchtower. If this is a magic thing, nobody's better than Zatanna to fix it."

* * *

When Zatanna finally managed to extricate herself from whatever she'd been doing previously and made it to the room where Dinah and Oliver were waiting, she found Dinah, normally ever-dignified, practically tied up in knots. She was sitting on a bench, curled in on herself, holding herself openly with both hands and dancing constantly. Granted, there was no danger of wetting herself no matter what she did, but it felt like it was helping, and that was enough for her.

"Goodness," said Zatanna, "that does look uncomfortable. I'll skip the pleasantries and go straight to the magic, shall I?"

"That would be appreciated," Dinah replied.

Placing her hand gently on Dinah's abdomen after she moved her arms out of the way, Zatanna spoke several syllables that seemed to defy comprehension, and Dinah felt something akin to static pass through her body. Zatanna thought for a moment, nodded, then spoke up. "Okay, from what I'm getting, it's a spell from sympathetic magic, matching a condition in one thing to an equivalent in another. This… 'Magi'," she seemed just a little amused by the hubris of the name, "is clearly pretty new at magic, though they have some measure of natural talent. The easiest way to deal with this would be to just sort of… pull the spell off you, leaving it unattached on this end, with the added bonus that I should be able to track them by it. It won't be big on dignity, with the removal of the part that's stopping you from going, but I can just clean it up after, so."

"If it means not having to feel like this any more, I'd accept it even if you _couldn't_ clean up. Hm. Sympathetic… so what, Magi's feeling like this too? That would explain some of their behavior."

"Yeah, probably. Consider it self-inflicted karma, I suppose. Okay, hold still…" She closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment, then spoke another incantation. A tension Dinah hadn't previously realized was there lifted, and her bladder released, its contents pouring freely forth.

The noise she made was almost _orgasmic_ , the relief feeling good enough that she suspected it should qualify as indecent, and when after almost two minutes she had finally emptied her bladder entirely she realized she had at some point arched her back as though pressing into the sensation. When she looked over at Oliver he was staring at her openmouthed, a visible bulge in his pants, and after that release she certainly understood why.

When a general feeling of warmth filled the room and she found herself dried off, she realized she had somehow forgotten about Zatanna entirely. The cleaning spell was really quite good; not only had it removed the puddle she had made and dried out her clothes, it had also cleaned off where the exertion had had her sweating and even returned her hair, which had fallen out of its style to hang in front of her face, to its usual shape. She felt like she had just been through a hot shower; it was delightful.

"You two look like you could use a moment," said Zatanna with a wry grin, "I'll leave you the room." So saying, she did exactly that, closing the door behind her at roughly the same moment as Dinah lost her patience and practically pounced upon Oliver.

* * *

The girl who had called herself Magi did not sleep that night.

She was quite annoyed that the Green Arrow had interfered, triggering her "recall to safe space" spell with his namesake weapon. She had been looking forward to watching the Black Canary squirm and struggle, for all that it meant that she herself wouldn't be able to go in that time. Still, she had an advantage over the Canary, in the form of spells that she was careful to exclude from the sympathetic link that increased her endurance beyond human normal.

Still, she at least took consolation from the fact that the Canary, wherever she was, would be unable to let go until she did, no matter how full they both got. Honestly, now she regretted already being on the way to a full bladder when she kidnapped the Canary, for all that it had meant her torment started as soon as she awoke; if she had started from empty she would have been able to draw out that torment all the more.

She wasn't sure that she wouldn't wet the bed if she fell asleep, so over the course of the night she drank her way through enough coffee to kill a small ox. The diuretic only worsened her need - and, she thought with a smile, that of the Canary - and she had to reapply the endurance spell several times before the sun even rose. Most of the following day was spent clutching herself and dancing, sometimes pacing around, and by the evening she was leaking near-constantly, her panties and the bed beneath her soaked; when eventually the last vestiges of her control abandoned her and she wet herself completely, it had been a little over two full days since she had last used the bathroom.

She lay sprawled out on her bed, torn between drifting off to sleep and mentally planning out a spell that could clean up the mess. Still, she was pleased to have finally achieved her revenge, as hard as it had been; she could only hope that the Canary had been somewhere very public when she had wet herself, that her humiliation could be seen by as many people as possible. She would check later, she decided as she surrendered to the hold of sleep.


	8. Batgirl

Barbara teleported into Mount Justice after a several-hour shift spent surveilling a suspected criminal hideout, which as far as she could tell it was not. As was her habit when entering a new environment she glanced over the entire place twice, and only after the second time, and just outside her field of vision, did Batman appear.

She did not jump. She never jumped, no matter how dedicated he was to the ninja routine. She suspected it was part of why she had been allowed to train under him as Batgirl, though she had never voiced that suspicion. He knew she suspected that, and she knew that he knew, and so on. So went the life of a Bat.

"Report," said he in that gravelly voice. Sometimes she wondered how it didn't hurt his throat.

"Not a peep. I sat there and watched for four hours and not a single soul entered or left that building, nor moved within it. If there's anything illegal going on, it wasn't happening today."

Batman simply nodded. Most people thought that he - and by extension Robin and Batgirl - never made mistakes, simply deducing the answer to any given problem flawlessly with his formidable intellect. One of the first things she had learned was that it simply didn't work that way; a good portion of detective work was chasing down leads that never amounted to anything, or turned out not to be leads at all. So when days like this one happened, she didn't complain; it was all part of the process.

There was something odd in Batman's stance, but Barbara wasn't sure what it was. In anyone else she would have called it hesitance, but it was _Batman_ , so she was unsure. As she tried to figure it out without looking like she was trying, he spoke again. "I have another case for you. You'd tackle this one on your own, beginning to end, unless you hit a dead end that you cannot resolve."

"Why me?" The response was immediate. She wasn't objecting, she'd had a few cases like that already, but it was another of the first things she had been taught: _question everything._ He had made clear that he would never fault her, nor anyone else for that matter, for asking a question if she couldn't come to an answer on her own, though for some questions he might decline to reply. On the other hand, if she had a question and _didn't_ ask, she knew it could delay or stall a case, and in Gotham that was often paid for in lives. So when she was handed a case with no prior indication that it would occur, she was certainly going to ask.

He nodded approvingly. "Robin is already working a case of his own, and I'm on _several_. Additionally, there are some cases even I can't investigate without… awkward questions being asked; for a solid case that's no issue, but for all I can tell this might amount to nothing. So it falls to you, if you want it."

She thought it over; it made sense, and there weren't any parts where he seemed to be holding something back to check she was paying attention. "I'll take it. What should I know?"

The awkwardness in his stance was even more obvious, now. It was bizarre. "Over the past week, there have been several incidents where female League members have…" the Batman, who inspired terror in the mad villains of Gotham and was rumored by some to be a demon (or worse, an angel) in human form, actually _hesitated_. Barbara wondered if the world was coming to an end. "…Have, thanks to several unrelated circumstances, involuntarily wet themselves." _Oh,_ that explained a great deal. "Three that I'm aware of, with at least one close call, and possibly more outside of League surveillance. As I said, it could be nothing, but…"

"Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and three times is enemy action?" she suggested.

"I've never believed in coincidence, and if your enemy is smart then they act once and then change methods. If they're smarter, you don't even realize there was a 'once' at all. But yes, in this case that's more or less correct; three incidents in a week is sufficiently unlikely that I believe there may be an external influence involved somehow. Consider it a test of how you approach a case with no obvious leads and of an unusual nature. Proceed as you will, and report your findings or lack thereof when you believe you have something meaningful."

Barbara nodded, and for a few moments Batman and Batgirl stood in silence. Once he was sure she had no questions, she blinked, and somehow in that time he was gone.

She really needed to learn that trick. Still, in the meantime, she had a case to solve. Already starting to think of possible directions to investigate, she headed to her room, which was basically a wall of computers, a comfortable chair, and a bed tucked away in one corner. So distracted was she that she didn't even notice as her bladder began to make itself felt, the hours of surveillance having given it time to fill.

Once she logged in to the system on which the Bats performed their investigations she immediately opened the notes file for League surveillance, scanning over the last week, and checked camera recordings and incident reports alike for the relevant times.

She closed the video player, blushing deeply, when she realized the Canary's intent after the most recent incident. That aside, she had a file of her own notes made as she watched, most of which amounted to one thing: that no common factor united even the three incidents proper, let alone M'gann's near miss.

If there was no visible connection, what did that leave? No, wrong question. If there _was_ a common cause, _why_ would it have been done?

It could be deliberate or accidental. If it was deliberate, it could be aimed at humiliating the League - except that only one of the incidents had been particularly public, and that was Wonder Woman's. Or the goal could be like that of "Magi" but on a larger scale, with the desperation being an end in its own right. But that didn't explain M'gann, who as a member of the covert-ops team had almost certainly never come to gain an enemy of that sort. Alternatively, whomever or whatever was responsible could be stupid, crazy, or not think the same way as most humans; but that was virtually impossible to investigate for in any meaningful sense, so while it was always an option on the table, it was rarely something that could be fielded as the most likely explanation. Similarly, she dismissed the idea that it was caused by a foe so intelligent that the steps in their plan seemed completely disconnected.

So if it wasn't deliberate, perhaps it was an accident. Even Batman himself wouldn't be able to arrange events on this scale from intelligence alone, so whatever was doing it was probably either a high-end power or magic. Magic didn't produce this kind of effect with inexperienced users, either coming out in minor bursts aimed at helping the user or in a giant, obvious catastrophe, so a power was more likely. Powers often activated unconsciously the first time or several times, until the person realized what was happening and began to exert control. If an unconscious power use was behind this it was likely something the user had given more than a little thought to, had hoped for or fantasized about. Teenagers and young adults were the highest-represented age groups in power activation, and unusual interests and fetishes came in all kinds; this would be far from the weirdest that she had heard of, if it were so.

And if a teenager or young adult had a fetish of this sort, it was more than possible that they visited or contributed to groups of people who shared it on the internet.

There. She had a lead. It was flimsy, she knew, based on several consecutive assumptions; still, for a case that might not even exist, any lead would be similarly tenuous, and Batman had played longer odds and come out with a successful solution in the past. Another of those first lessons was that a good detective trusted their instincts; if anything would count, this would.

Lost in her train of logic she crossed her legs without realizing, at the same time taking a sip from one of the many bottles of water she kept for investigations. It was time to delve into the strange and mildly intimidating world of internet fetishes. For all that she would have faced the Scarecrow unflinching, she had to admit some of what she knew lay in the darker corners still left her feeling a little apprehensive.

* * *

Honestly, as internet fetishes went, this one wasn't so bad.

Actually, some of these stories and pictures were pretty good, considering their subject matter. Many of them weren't, but that was to be expected with the internet; most of what people in general created tended to be of poor quality. Some of the good ones were genuinely engaging, though; a few times she had actually taken brief time out of the investigation to read one of them.

Not that all the pictures, videos, and discussion of urination were helping her bladder very much. _Maybe I should use the bathroom…_ But no, she was getting close to a breakthrough.

She was pretty sure she had found most of the major websites where people with this interest would tend to go. Undoubtedly she had missed some minor ones, but there was a very good chance that anyone who actively participated in the bladder-desperation community was a member of at least one of them.

In fact, she had a fairly solid lead. There were a variety of threads devoted to superheroes in particular, (she _really_ hadn't needed to know just how much interest people had in her suit, much less to read the speculation on how hard it might be to get out of in a hurry,) and in some of them had been posts that matched up to the details of the incidents surprisingly well. Admittedly, there was enough that a parallel could probably be drawn to just about any situation, but a lead was a lead, and her instincts were practically screaming at her that the user who had written two of them and offered comments on the others could be responsible.

She wouldn't limit herself to _only_ that user, of course; just about anyone who had viewed the threads could have allowed the ideas to filter through to their power. But as a lead suspect, that user it was who she favored.

(Her instincts weren't the only things screaming at her. Every so often she found her hand making its way to her crotch without her intent, and she was bouncing rapidly in her seat. It _ached_ , and outside of her detective-ing fugue she would most certainly have gone to the bathroom. Instead she shifted her position so that she was sitting on her heel, after, of course, removing her boots, and used that to apply a controlling pressure. Lost in her fugue, none of this made it to her conscious mind.)

Now all she had to do was hack into the websites and determine the IP addresses of the relevant users, see if any of the best-suspect accounts could be connected to real identities. Child's play.

* * *

There. She had identities. Better, her favorite suspect fit the profile for having gained powers wonderfully well; she fell right into the ideal age range, she lived in the city with the third-highest incidence of powered individuals in America, and practically clinching it, she had just two days past won a small but nontrivial cash prize on a scratch-and-win ticket. A good detective was never absolutely sure of any conclusion, no matter how certain, always re-evaulating in case there was some missed factor or wild card, but insofar as she could ever trust conclusions, she felt sure this girl was responsible.

Batman would be thrilled. Batman would be proud. Batman might even raise an eyebrow and nod approvingly.

When had she started sitting on her heel? No matter. With her conclusions neatly organized into a single file and accompanied by summaries on the best suspects, including the one who _totally did it_ , she swivelled her chair around and dropped her leg back down to accompany the other one, ready to find Batman to present her findings -

And suddenly all the feelings she had ignored in favor of the case seemed to hit her at once, her bladder more full than she had ever, ever felt before. She froze in place and groaned involuntarily, trying with all her power to hold the flood at bay, and her bladder ignored her best attempts and began to empty.

Her bodysuit was waterproof, diving suit being among its many functions, and so as what felt like all the liquid on Earth began to force its way out of her it was trapped within. The suit bulged just a little to accommodate the new addition, but mostly her urine began to spread out and pour down her legs, pooling around her feet. It was almost _hot_ , though it began to cool quickly, and with the combination of the relief and the rushing sensation over her crotch and, potentially, the pornography she had just recently read, she quickly found herself more than a little turned on. Still peeing, she thrust a hand to her crotch and began rubbing herself as best she could through the fabric, orgasming hard enough that for a moment all she saw was white as she collapsed bonelessly back into her chair, her stream beginning to taper off a few seconds later.

She sighed happily and considered the feeling. It was odd, but not unpleasant, to have her urine pooled within her suit, though the thermoregulation that kept it and her at a comfortable temperature probably helped. As she was still seated a fair amount had remained around her crotch and upper thighs, but still there was plenty in the legs; her suit was tight enough that the little space afforded to it meant it nearly reached her knees. When she stood up she thought it might well reach partway up her thighs, actually.

She would probably have to get up soon. As much as it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling she would probably not do her skin any favors to sit like this for too long. She would have to go to the showers and rinse out her suit before she could report to Batman. As wound up as she was, she might end up using the shower head for another purpose, but that would be between her and the wall tiles; if there was any surveillance in the bathrooms she hadn't yet found access to it. (And if she someday did, she would probably kill Batman.)

Maybe she would join one of those sites and write up a plausibly-fictionalized account of her story, that would be amusing. Really, this wasn't such an unpleasant power to be affected by -

Her train of thought suddenly derailed as she realized she had played right into one of the power-induced situations herself. Well then, she thought with a sharp grin, now it was _personal._


End file.
